Pierce The Skin
by Scifiroots
Summary: Here’s my attempt at taking on my exroomie's challenge of “what happens when Johnny has a vision from a person who commits suicide.”


Pierce The Skin

**By**: Clarity Scifiroots  
**Fandom**: The Dead Zone, Bruce/Johnny _friendship_  
**Request notes**: For ozsaur's "partner betrayal" request—a bit of a twist on the theme. This one's dark!  
**Disclaimers apply**.  
**Warnings!**: Mature content ahead—a non-canon character suicide lies within along with a character suicide attempt.  
**Summary**: Well, my dearest Sarah (my future roommate, provider of _Doctor Who_, and fast friend) was over at my house earlier this year and while we were talking she brought up the question of what would happen if Johnny touched something that everyone thought had been a murder weapon but in actuality was used in a suicide. So, here's (finally) my attempt at taking on the "what happens when Johnny has a vision from a person who commits suicide." (I figure this is a good/interesting way to end my mouth of fic/day. )  
_Edited July 8, 2005_

"I'm sorry you had to postpone your dinner plans, John."

"No, that's alright. You said this guy testified against some drug ring a few months ago?"

Walt sighed as he pulled out of the driveway and turned on the siren. "Drugs, arms trafficking. Some intimidation and the occasional murder on the side... Typical family business, huh? Yeah, our victim came forward and provided enough evidence for the prosecutor to put away the better part of three generations of his family in exchange for amnesty."

"That seems a little... unlikely, even in the case of self-preservation," Johnny commented, frowning.

"Supposedly he was never one of the bigger players; he was the third youngest of seven siblings and had studied abroad before 'duty called.' He married a few years later and she seemed to get into things a little more, but she went missing over a year ago. The suspicion is that someone in the family got rid of her and he testified in revenge." Walt shrugged. "Don't know if it's true, but it would make some sense."

"I guess it would," Johnny said, although not quite convinced.

As they neared their destination, Walt explained, "The first thing we need to figure out is if this was a homicide staged as a suicide... or the real thing. There's evidence to go either way at this point and since this guy wasn't exactly mister social after the trial and moved here from New York, we don't have much to reference in terms of his recent state of mind. There's certainly plenty of motive for a murder—not all of the family could be jailed and it's not like they were short on contacts, either."

"Did he receive threats regarding his testimony?'

Walt nodded grimly. "Phone calls, letters, verbal threats... apparently narrowly avoided two car bombs in the days just before the trial." He parked the squad car within the police barricade surrounding a very stereotypical-looking suburban duplex . He motioned for Johnny to wait in the car until he called two uniformed deputies over to help put a barrier between the flashing cameras of reporters and the psychic.

They focused on getting inside quickly, leaving the noise of one group in exchange for another. A forensic team was busy combing the entire house for signs of an intruder. Walt led the way upstairs to the bedroom. Johnny casually brushed his fingers against the doorframe as he passed and felt the activation of a vision.

_He saw everything in sharp relief except for the hazy images of Walt and two other men who were apparently working in the room. He held his breath when he caught sight of the body laying on the bed. Hesitantly Johnny stepped closer and stared down at the glazed eyes that stared blindly at one corner of the room. One arm dangled off the bed, a bloody kitchen knife not far from his blood-drenched hand. _

_No mystery why he died—the blood from slit wrists had made dark puddles on the bedclothes and the carpet. Johnny took another step closer, planning on touching the knife to see what information he could glean. He glanced again at the dead man's face and jerked backwards when he saw the eyes were back to normal and tracking his movements._

_The man's lips parted; "I knew you'd come."_

"John!"

Walt's voice startled him and Johnny turned wide eyes to meet his friend's concerned gaze. Johnny looked again at the bed but found that only the dark blood stains remained.

"What did you see?" Walt prompted quietly.

Johnny shook his head slowly. "The body and... I'm not sure." He was frustrated to discover how shaky he felt. With the help of his cane he knelt down at the bedside and studied the knife that hadn't been moved yet. Johnny looked at the man standing close by and asked, "May I?"

Frowning, the man said uncertainly, "I can't let you touch the hilt, Mr. Smith..."

"The blade, then," Johnny murmured with a small shrug. He let his fingers hover over the blade for a few moments and shuddered at the intense knot of... _something_ hanging above the knife. His fingers landed abruptly on the flat of the blade and he was overwhelmed—

_Anger—his blood was boiling and his hands were clenched into tight fists. He stared at his broken reflection in the shattered mirror in front of him and realized only then that his hands were bleeding. He saw several moments in time where a beautiful middle-aged woman and a younger man were engaged in various stages of intimacy, and he felt jealousy and hurt well up in his chest. He saw the same woman staring up at him with anger and disgust written plainly on her face; the next moment he saw her head laying limply against her shoulder, blood trailing from the corner of her mouth. He realized he was holding her dead body in his arms and carrying her to the open trunk of a car. His chest felt heavy with guilt, self-loathing, and lingering jealous anger._

_Abruptly his surroundings changed and he sat on a familiar bed, staring at the knife in his hands. Mechanically he turned the wrist of his right hand up and placed the knife against his skin._

Johnny gasped for air as he came out of the vision. He pulled back quickly from the knife and would have liked to stand if he wasn't shaking so bad.

"John, are you okay?" Walt crouched next to him and had a hand ready to help steady him if need be.

Deciding for once not to play the stoic, Johnny shook his head. "No... I'd like... to go home."

Walt watched him worriedly as Johnny struggled to stand. Looking a little guilty for asking, Walt said, "What did you see?"

Johnny shut his eyes as the emotions threatened to overwhelm him again. "I'll tell you on the drive back," he whispered.

Walt watched Johnny walk with deceptive slowness up the steps to his door. He considered what Johnny had told him about David McKennitt's suicide and felt uneasy. According to Johnny, McKennitt's wife had been having an affair and it was tearing him apart; then, during a confrontation she had snapped her neck when he knocked her down the stairs in an emotional rage. According to Johnny, McKennitt then made his decision to testify and try to move on to a new life. Obviously something had gone wrong, the guilt had plagued him, until that morning when he'd put an end to it.

How did seeing something like all that affect a person? Walt wondered uneasily as he slowly drove down the driveway. Glancing back at the house in his rearview mirror he decided to give Bruce a call and have the man come over to check on their mutual friend.

Johnny found he couldn't settle down. He moved restlessly through the downstairs rooms, oddly coming to a stop on occasion within the kitchen and allowing his eyes to dart nervously around the room. He clenched his fingers into fists to keep from trembling. No matter what he did, he couldn't calm his racing heartbeat or ease his breathing.

After about ten minutes of wandering around he found himself again in the kitchen. He didn't remember approaching the counter with the knife rack. The moment his trembling fingers closed over the handle of one of the knifes he felt a wave of calm wash over him.

He withdrew the knife and stared at it wonderingly for a few moments. He turned around and walked towards the stairs, finally focused.

Walt sounded worried, which was not a good thing. Bruce rushed as quickly as he could to get dressed once he'd gotten the call and was out the door before he'd even buttoned his shirt. He got the general gist of the case Johnny had been called in to help with from Walt's handful of sentences; it was enough to set his imagination into overdrive.

Bruce ignored the sharp jerk he felt from his seatbelt as he slammed on the brakes. He pulled the keys from the ignition, going by feel to find the house key. He was disturbed to find the door unlocked since Johnny was usually obsessed with ensuring his house was locked tight in case unwanted visitors managed to get past his outer security.

"John!" Bruce shouted as he came inside, already heading off down the hall to start searching the rooms. He kept calling his friend's name, something inside him quaking with fear that it was too late.

Johnny wasn't downstairs.

Bruce took the steps two at a time and immediately headed for the master bedroom since Johnny rarely used the other upstairs rooms.

"John! Man, answer me!" Bruce called. He flung open the door with his heart in his throat. "Oh, God!"

Johnny didn't acknowledge his presence; he sat on the bed staring down at the silver blade of a knife stained with crimson blood that dripped from a cut he was still dragging the knife along.

Bruce leapt forward and caught his friend's still undamaged wrist. He didn't have to fight hard to gain possession of the knife. Immediately he threw it aside and locked one hand over the bleeding wrist while he dug out his cell phone with the other.

"You're not going to fucking do this to me, man!" Bruce said as he dialed for an ambulance.

Johnny looked up slowly with confused eyes. "Bruce...?" he murmured.

Bruce didn't answer right away, more concerned about getting help as quickly as possible.

"Yeah, John... Jesus. Why the hell didn't Walt stay with you?" Bruce couldn't calm down, not until he knew for sure his friend was going to be okay.

Unfocused eyes blinked slowly at him. "I didn't know... It just..."

"Damn, I know," Bruce whispered, leaning down and kissing the top of Johnny's head. "I've never been so scared."

A small smile crossed Johnny's lips as he closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Bruce..." He listed to one side and Bruce quickly helped him to lie down.

"An ambulance is coming, man. Just hold on," Bruce said, as much for his benefit as Johnny's.

The blond tiredly nodded, a grimace of pain making an appearance.

"We're going to talk about this when you're feeling better," Bruce said roughly. "I want to know exactly what happened and how it got to you so badly."

"I'm going to be okay," Johnny murmured. He opened his eyes so that Bruce could see the sincerity of his gaze.

"Okay..." Bruce whispered.

** Fin **


End file.
